


Runaways

by clouder (selfinduced)



Category: Smallville
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-23
Updated: 2004-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfinduced/pseuds/clouder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe isn't Lois and Kal isn't Clark. Set during Clark's summer in Metropolis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runaways

**Author's Note:**

> For [Red!Clark Ficathon](http://www.livejournal.com/users/__fallen/75488.html), [Lacey](http://www.livejournal.com/~laceymcbain) and [Abi](http://www.livejournal.com/~justabi) rock like rocking things. Er, people. And, it is totally not their fault if I missed anything, which I'm pretty sure I have.  
>  _challenge:_ For: | Pairing: Kal/Chloe | Three requirements: set during Clark's summer in Metropolis, Chloe's birthmark (as mentioned in "Red"), secrecy

**runaway:**  
 _n_.  


     A person or animal that has run away.  

    Something that has escaped control or proper confinement.

 _adj_.  


     Escaping or having escaped restraint, captivity, or control: _runaway children_.  

     Out of control: _a runaway car_.  

     Easily won: _a runaway victory_.  


* * *

 **Past** :

Words were unnecessary things; something to stuff in your purse like those packets of Kleenex they gave you on airplanes that you knew you’d never actually use. Speaking of which, she could really use some right now. Kleenex was familiar, soft, comforting. She had no Kleenex. It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t as if she had to listen to Pete. It wasn’t as if Pete knew anything about what it felt like. Or, or Clark, either. No one knew, except maybe Lana,--“ _I caught him making out with another girl_.”--and Chloe wasn’t exactly in a mindset to sympathize with her right now.

God.

Chloe blew her nose on a shirtsleeve and laughed hysterically for a moment before she stopped, dangerously close to tears. Again.

Allergies, she told herself, just the springtime pollen out to get her as usual. No tears from ‘the intrepid Ms. Sullivan’, as Lionel’d called her, leaving her feeling vaguely slimy.

She’d refused him, of course. Did he really think she’d sell out her best friend--complete jerk that Clark was sometimes--for a summer internship? That his cloying tone and heavy-handed compliments were going to convince her of his sincerity?

Chloe had run off to find Clark, needing--just _needing_ his presence, even if he didn’t hug her or comfort her or _anything_. As long as he was there, his warmth and brightness burning out the clammy taint left on her skin where Lionel’d touched her arm.

She’d warn him and he would smile at her, maybe even saying “Thank you.” unless he had to run off somewhere in a hurry, and the sweet curve of his lips would melt her insides, making the loss of the internship worth it.

When Pete found her sitting on the floor of her room, face tucked into her knees, he didn’t say anything. Just sat close and pulled her into his arms, and when she looked up, he brushed strands of tear-soaked hair out of her eyes, looking at her like she was the center of the universe. Even with all the things going on around them--especially the things she wasn’t supposed to know about, that had to do with Clark--for the moment Pete was completely focused on her, warm and soft-eyed. Chloe wondered if she looked at Clark that way.

If everyone could see it on her face. Not that it mattered. Clark was stupid anyway.

She, at least didn’t lead Pete on and kiss him. Had never pretended to date him for a few days before a dance because she couldn’t have Clark. She didn’t even let Pete hold her for very long while she cried. Best friends didn’t just use each other whenever it was convenient and then dump them afterwards like a hot potato. Or lie about things when they’d promised not to.

Chloe brushed at her eyes angrily for a second. Clark was stupid.

And she had a meeting with Lionel to get ready for.

  


 **Present, Chloe** :

Lois isn’t here. She’s in Spain.

So.

Chloe slides on the tight leather skirt, shorter than she normally wears and without any pants underneath. It’s plain black. Kind of shiny. Chloe usually likes things that are more colorful, softer fabrics--not that this leather isn’t soft… it’s…

She smiles slightly.

It’s perfect for where she’s going. Perfect for who she’s supposed to be for the next couple months.

She doesn’t like wigs, so hair extensions it is. Head full of hair, real and fake, dyed so dark a brown that it’s pretty much black. Like Clark’s.

No, no Clark.

Like Lois, then.

She jabs Lois’s red lipstick almost viciously against her lips, a shade different from hers, though she’s not sure if it’s brighter or darker or what. Just knows that it’s different, if only to her.

The apartment is hers for the summer and she intends to make full use of the opportunity. An internship at the _Daily Planet_ , along with being her dream job, is also a perfect excuse to stay in the city more often than back home.

And if she wants to practice her investigative journalism skills on the nightlife entertainment scene in Metropolis, who’s going to call her out for paying extra attention to any tall, dark, and handsome boys?

-

Not the boy himself, apparently.

Because when Chloe finds him, he’s dancing blindly on the floor of Atlantis, one of the newer clubs run by the Metropolis underground.

Just because his eyes are closed doesn’t mean she can assume he hasn’t seen her, and she’s right. Again. He knows and she knows, and he knows that she does. It all makes perfect sense in that weird, twisted way that all things in Smallville and involving the Kents do.

But this isn’t goddamn Smallville, and she isn’t--

She’s Lois. Lois Lane.

So she keeps her elbows on the bar-top and slouches indulgently instead of watching him approach, and leans back against his hand when it settles on the small of her back. Smiles up at him, accepting his offer of a drink.

  


 **Present, Kal** :

“I’ll tell you what,” Kal slides his hand up her thigh, hiking the leather of her skirt around her waist, long fingers seeking heat. “Your name isn’t Lois Lane.”

He bites lightly at her collarbone, his smile is sharp, teeth so light on her skin he won’t even leave a bruise, but there’s nothing gentle about it, or the way he presses into her. “It’s Chloe Sullivan.”

He’s heady with the feel of controlled strength, knowing what he can do but is keeping in check. The power surges through his veins like the euphoria of red kryptonite, making him eager to show it off to someone who can appreciate the difference. Who knows him from before.

She laughs at him, sweet and bitter at the same time, familiar smile flashing up at him like something too bright for this room.

“That’s okay.” She draws patterns onto his chest under his shirt before pushing it off his shoulders entirely. “You’re still Kal, right?”

Her kisses are sweet and hot on his jaw and neck, and her hands are sliding under his clothes, touching, touching, like a fire that doesn’t hurt anything like the scar on his chest.

“What do you want, Kal? What do you like, hmm?”

Her voice is deep and throaty, and the Clark in him is shocked at hearing it like this, at knowing that it even exists. But the Clark in him is no less susceptible to the knuckles pressing him through rough denim before undoing his belt.

He’s out of breath and loves it because this is the only thing that can make him pant, out of breath. Sex, _good_ sex. Sex with--

Chloe.

There’s complicated stuff that comes with that, but he’s Kal now. He doesn’t have to think about that. That’s Clark’s department.

Kal gives a half snort. Poor Clark.

-

He skims his lips up the back of her thigh, up the swell of her ass and bites softly at the birthmark there. Like a little bruise in a shape that could almost be called a butterfly. Fragile.

Adds a matching mark on the other cheek, checking it closely for craftsmanship. It’ll last a few weeks, at best, but Kal isn’t interested in thinking that far ahead into the future.

“ _Did you know that Chloe had a birthmark on her cheek_?”

“ _No she doesn_ ' _t_.”

“ _Not that cheek_.”

He grins widely.

Pete has no idea what he’s missing. Except, Pete probably wants this a lot more than Clark ever did, and isn’t that tragic?

Straight out of some daytime soap, he wants her, she wants him and he… isn’t Clark right now.

Kal bites a harder, squeezing with his hand and imagines how Chloe’s probably biting her lip where he can’t see.

He’s not Clark, and Kal doesn’t want anything but everything he can get.

Kal slides his mouth up the hollow of her spine, tongue slicking on her shoulder blades, and hands rubbing up her sides to cradle her breasts.

“Wanna go again?”

He’s not pushy; it’s not as urgent anymore. But third time’s the charm, right?

Chloe groans up at him, turning on to her back and wrapping her ankles around his knees. Mouth hot and open on his shoulder as her fingers drag down his back. When he slides into her, it’s familiar and slow, orgasm building like a pinpoint of warmth growing with every thrust. It’s almost--

Romantic, in a way.

Not that it’s intentional on his part.

Kal doesn’t need much more than just to get off. Isn’t picky about who he fucks, as long as it’s warm-blooded and alive--and doesn’t ask too many questions. He doesn’t care about smooth, hairless skin all over and cock instead of pussy, hard muscled planes instead of soft, sweet curves.

And a tiny scar on the upper lip that begs to be tongued until Lex whimpers.

Kal doesn’t care about Lex.

Lex is dead.

Married _and_ Dead.

His next thrust inside of her is harder and faster all at once, breaking the rhythm. Almost forgetting to be careful as he tries to drive a point home to all parts of himself, Clark included. But Chloe’s human and breakable and Clark cares about her. Kal can’t hide from being Clark forever.

Can’t hide from the hurt forever. It’s not possible.

Because not everything _is_ possible--

“ _Clark… Do you believe a man can fly_?”

“ _People can_ ’ _t_ _fly_ , _Lex_.”

“ _We have a future_ , _Clark_ … _And I don_ ’ _t want anything to stand in the way of our friendship_.”

\--and Destiny is a fucking lie.

His Lex is dead.


End file.
